


Brother Earth, Sister Sky

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Adoptive Siblings, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Game Events Skimmed Through Very Briefly, Pre-Canon, Siblings, Trauma, canon-typical trauma, mlm/wlw solidarity, platonic intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: "I don't have a tribe," Rath says."Huh? Everyone has a tribe," Lyn says matter-of-factly. "It's where your family and friends are."Rath looks away. "None of them want me," he mumbles. "I don't have a family, or any friends."Lyn frowns. "That's sad," she decides. "I'll be your friend, then. Here, take my hand."
Relationships: Florina/Lyndis (Fire Emblem), Lyndis & Rath (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Brother Earth, Sister Sky

**Author's Note:**

> brewed all of this basically in one night lmao thanks adhd
> 
> unlike most of my fe6/7 content, this does not take place in the same universe as hand-me-down and wagon wheel, instead its like an alternate continuity or something idk its like 1am

Hassar's daughter is born beneath the summer star, in the year 961 of the Etrurian Calendar, as the eastern sky turns red with the dawn. She comes out wrinkled and flushed, bloody afterbirth sticking to her skin. Hassar is there, and he watches her first moments— stretching out her tiny limbs, coughing air into her lungs, and the first tiny cough and hiccup before her first cry. It's a strong one, one that makes everyone present breathe a sigh of relief. Another child of Mother Earth and Father Sky, brought safely into the world and quite intent to stay. 

And stay she does. Her first weeks pass where she eats, sleeps, poops, and does little else— but no one's expecting anything more, from a baby. Her hair grows in soft green tufts so common in Sacae; her eyes open to dusty blue, but it's still to early to tell if the color will stick. They name her Lyndis, after Madelyn's mother— it's not a very Sacaean name, but Hassar isn't fussed. If it's a problem, the tribe can take it up with him. 

She is perfect. Hassar didn't understand why people called life a miracle until he saw it bloom before his eyes. 

The chatter on the trade routes say that disaster is coming to Elibe— the Kutolah's oracle said as much. _The plains will burn,_ so he hears, _and a child of Mother Earth and Father Sky must stop it._ It's a recent prophecy— those are always the most unnerving, until the novelty wears off. Though most of them don't usually predict destruction on this kind of scale. Maybe it's some new sense that becoming a father sparked in him, but he worries. Did he bring a child into a world that's near its end? 

Madelyn doesn't put much stock in oracles. "There's no magic about it," she says, rolling her eyes, while little Lyn nurses at her breast. "I've seen oracles before. They watch the people who ask things of them, and tell them what they want to hear." 

"You're not wrong," Hassar admits. "But I've never heard an oracle predict the end times." 

"Well, it's been a good millennium since the last apocalypse," Madelyn says wryly. "Clearly, we're due." 

Apocalypse or no, Hassar figures the Kutolah are handling it like they handle every prophecy involving a child of Mother Earth and Father Sky stopping some catastrophe— sending the Chieftain's son out to fix the problem. It's worked before. A Kutolah boy prevented a disaster at the War Games by discovering why the horses were getting sick. Before that, another Kutolah boy brought word back to the tribes in time to allow them to be prepared for a bandit assault. True, neither of those things were the end of the world, but it made sense to try a familiar solution first. 

(Truthfully, Hassar doesn't remember if the Kutolah Chieftain even has a son. Then again, it's been a while— maybe it just never came up.) 

But the plains do not burn that year, or the next year, or the next. The urgency of a doomsday prophecy fades into background noise as people focus on more immediate, more important things— which hunting grounds are good for game this season, and who's going to win this year's War Games. (Hassar desperately wishes he could participate, but it's ill-advised for the chief to be on a team. The tribes try not to play to the death anymore, but accidents happen, and you can't be the chief if you're dead.)

So the years pass, and Lyn grows up safe and slow, as a Chieftain's daughter ought to. Her mother was born in Lycia, and everyone knows that, but there is no question that Lyn is a child of Sacae. The Sacae that Hassar was raised with cares little for birth— adopted and surrogate children are children all the same. So long as the members of a tribe look out for each other and protect each other, it doesn't matter if they're related by blood. 

Lyn turns six when the summer star rises once more, and she looks more like Madelyn every day. Her hair is Hassar's vibrant green, and her eyes grew to match her mother's stormy gray. Her skin browns in the sunshine on the plains, collecting scratches and scrapes that all children boast about like battle scars. She loses her first baby tooth and proudly wears her gap-toothed grin. She plays with stick dolls and toy swords, and learns to use a slingshot from an older girl without Hassar or Madelyn knowing about it until a month after she's mastered it. She runs and plays without fear of the future, because she knows that, if anything happens, her parents will be there to keep her safe. Sacae is her home; the Lorca, her family. To her, these are absolutes as certain as the blue sky and the green grass. 

From a certain age, Sacae's children run free, with the understanding that by choosing an action, they choose the consequences of said action— if you stay out too late and miss dinner, for example, it's your own fault. Lyn likes to think that she knows better than to go so far out she gets lost. That's something dumb little kids do, and Lyn isn't a little kid, she's six years old, and that's totally not little-kid-aged. And she _is_ pretty good at finding her way back— she's only gotten so lost someone had to come find her once, and that wasn't _totally_ her fault. (That lizard was tricky, okay?) So, Lyn isn't shy about exploring. She finds cool stuff when she's exploring! Worth it, if you ask her. 

She's never found a whole other person when she was out exploring, but there's a first time for everything. 

This whole other person is a boy, older than Lyn but definitely not grown-up, and she finds him in a tree. It's kind of an accident— she saw movement, thought it was a bird, and took out her slingshot. Then she shot him with her slingshot. And then he fell out of the tree. 

(She would wonder later why "shoot it with your slingshot" was her first thought, when she knew damn well that the thing didn't have enough power to do any actual hunting.) 

He has the same green hair as two-thirds of Sacae, but he's not wearing any tribal colors that Lyn recognizes (then again, she's never had to). His hair is long and tangled and falls past his eyes, his clothes are shabby, and his bow looks like it's on its last legs. He coughs the air back into his lungs and sits up, rubbing the little red mark on his forehead where the rock hit. It isn't even bleeding. Lyn goes over to him anyway. 

"Sorry!" she says, because that's what you say when you hit accidentally someone in the forehead with your slingshot. "Are you okay?" 

The boy frowns. He looks at Lyn, and nods. He says nothing. 

"Oh, okay, good," Lyn decides. "I thought you were a bird. Here." She holds out her hand to help him up, because that's what you do. She pays attention to what her parents say, most of the time.

He squints at her hand. He continues saying nothing. 

Lyn pulls her hand back and frowns at him. "I was gonna help you up," she says. "It's good manners. Do you talk? _Can_ you talk?"

He blinks. "I can talk," he says. 

"What's your name?" Lyn asks, helping him up completely forgotten. "I'm Lyn. I'm from the Lorca tribe and we're camped pretty close by. I'm six, how old are you?" 

"Rath," the boy says. "Um. Ten." 

Lyn nods in understanding. "Hey, I didn't know there was another tribe around here. Which one is it? You should probably go home soon 'cause if you get lost and miss dinner you don't get any." 

"I don't have a tribe," Rath says. 

"Huh? Everyone has a tribe," Lyn says matter-of-factly. "It's where your family and friends are."

Rath looks away. "None of them want me," he mumbles. "I don't have a family, or any friends." 

Lyn frowns. "That's sad," she decides. "I'll be your friend, then. Here, take my hand." She holds it out again.

Rath looks at her dubiously, but takes it. She tugs with all her strength, but doesn't get very far. Rath figures she's trying to help, though, so he's a good sport about it and stands up, letting her think she helped. 

"We're friends now," Lyn says. 

"Uh." Rath blinks. "O… kay?"

"You can be a part of my tribe," she says. "My papa's the Chieftan and he's really nice so I bet he'll like you, too. It's dumb to not like someone you haven't even met and my papa's not dumb at all." 

Rath doesn't seem to know what to say to that. That's fine. Lyn keeps talking. 

"You can meet my mama, too," Lyn says. "And all my friends and the horses and dogs. A lot of them are nice but Shapur is really angry all the time and says mean things, but don't mind him. Are you hungry? It's close to dinnertime. We're having something with mushrooms in it, though, and I don't like mushrooms, so you can have mine. I used to feed them to the dogs but Mama caught me and made me stop 'cause it could make them sick. Are you a good hunter? You have a bow so I bet you are. I wanna learn to hunt but Papa won't teach me 'cause I learned how to use this slingshot without asking first…" 

She chatters the whole walk back to camp, pulling Rath along by the hand the whole time, completely oblivious to how she's making his head spin. (What Rath will realize later, though, is that he doesn't mind at all.)

Hassar rubs his temples. "Lyndis," he says. 

"You said tribemates don't always have to be related to other tribemates," Lyn retorts, stomping her foot on the packed dirt for emphasis. "You _said!"_

Madelyn pats his shoulder. "You did say that," she says. 

"Rath is my friend and I want him to stay with us," Lyn says stubbornly. "Please, Papa?" 

"Let's ask Rath," Madelyn suggests. 

Rath stiffens. He doesn't look up. 

"Do you know what tribe you were born into?" Hassar asks. 

"… Kutolah," Rath mumbles. 

Hassar furrows his brow. "Why aren't you with them now?"

"Had to leave," Rath says. "Father said so and the old lady said so."

"Old lady," Hassar hums. "An oracle?" 

Rath shrugs. 

"What's a oracle?" Lyn asks. 

"Someone who tells the future," Madelyn explains. "Stay quiet now, okay, Lyn?" 

Lyn nods. She sits down next to Madelyn and wiggles under one of her arms. 

"Was your father the Chieftain, Rath?" Hassar asks, though it looks like he knows the answer already. 

Rath nods. 

Hassar takes a deep breath in, and then lets it go. He looks at Madelyn. Madelyn looks at him. Both of them look back at Rath. 

"Rath," Hassar says. "Why don't you stay with us?"

"Yes!" Lyn cheers, clapping her hands together. 

Rath blinks. "Um," he says. "I… don't know." 

"It'll be much safer here," Madelyn promises. "You won't have to fend for yourself anymore. We have plenty to go around."

"You can teach me how to hunt since Papa won't!" Lyn brings up, bouncing in her seat. 

"I won't force you," Hassar says. "But the Lorca will welcome you, Rath. Unconditionally." 

Rath looks up. He looks at Hassar, then at Madelyn, and then at Lyn. He hesitates, but then he nods. 

So, Lyn gets a brother. There are probably better ways of obtaining one than accidentally knocking him out of a tree, but she's not complaining. 

Rath starts thinking of Madelyn and Hassar as his parents pretty quick, but refuses to actually say as much for several months. Eventually, it stops mattering. It's like he's been a Lorca forever, and nobody will even blink if it slips out.

The seasons pass. Rath lets Madelyn trim his hair and show him how to tie it back, out of his face. There are birthdays, and holidays, and a very special trip to see the War Games. Hassar teaches the two of them to tame a horse, and Rath succeeds while Lyn does not, but she says she'll keep at it. When Lyn is ten and they're in the northern foothills, they find a little pegasus knight stuck in a tree. For his fourteenth birthday, Rath gets a new bow, a real bow meant to bring down bigger animals, and he doesn't see Hassar get misty-eyed thinking about how Rath called him _Father_. 

Rath is still quiet, and spends a lot of time wandering, but he always comes back home. Because it _is_ home— real meals and a tent to sleep in and somewhere to be when the weather gets nasty; no more fending for himself, swinging blindly with a stick at wolves in the dark, picking off the scraps that bandits and raiders leave behind. He has a need for solitude, after it being his only companion for so long, but it's always temporary. Home is real. 

Lyn is eleven and Rath is fifteen when it all falls apart. 

There's a sickness. Headaches, first, then rashes, then you can't eat without throwing it all back up. It kills the dogs first, then half of the horses, and then it starts killing people, too. They find broken vials of poison near the water supply, but the damage has been done. They don't have enough healers. They don't have medicine. They don't have staves.

The attacks come when over half the tribe is ill. People fight, they fight with all they have, but it isn't enough. It would never have been enough. They kill the sick, the old, the young. Madelyn goes down with a sword in her hands, and Hassar can only thank the gods that it was quick, that she didn't suffer. Lyn grabs the sword from her hands and flings herself into battle and Hassar wants to hold her back, she's just a girl, just a _child_ , but Lyn was always stubborn, more stubborn than her foolish old father. 

Hassar will not survive this battle. He takes down a bandit, two, four, seven— their numbers are dwindling, but they're relentless, and the Lorca drop faster than they can retaliate. Hassar makes a choice. 

He grabs Lyn by the back of her shirt and hoists her onto the back of Rath's horse. She fights— she always was a fighter— and there's worry on Rath's face, questions; Hassar doesn't give him a chance to ask them. 

_Go_ , he orders. Hassar has never once raised his voice to them, not until now. Not until he tells them to run. 

Hassar does not survive that battle, but he dies knowing that his children are safe. 

There are too many bodies to bury. 

The Lorca left are a ragged handful; lucky survivors that will carry the weight of that luck their whole lives. Anger flares with the trauma of it all. They curse the chief's name, and blame whatever they can think of. The blame lands upon Lyn (a girl, always spoiled by her father, foolish and wrong to think she could do as she pleased like she did) and upon Rath (unlucky, unwanted, a charm of misfortune that the Chieftain brought in and pretended was his son). Rath knows it hurts, but he can't feel the sting. It hurts worse when Lyn says nothing, only looks at the empty, lifeless eyes in her father's dead face. 

The survivors will not follow. They won't follow a girl, nor will they follow a false son. They leave Lyn and Rath behind in the shattered remains of their home, with too many bodies for two children to bury. 

Rath nudges her. "Come on," he says. "We'll make a pyre." 

"Will you leave, too?" she asks. 

Rath doesn't have to ask what she means. "No," he says. "Will you?"

Lyn shakes her head. She has her arms around her shins, her chin on her knees. Rath puts a blanket over her shoulders. There's still dried blood on her face that she didn't manage to scrub off in the stream. "Never." 

"There you have it." Rath pokes at the embers of their campfire. It's the two of them, and Rath's horse, and whatever they could carry from the camp. 

She speaks again. "So you'll follow me?" 

Rath shrugs. "Of course I will. You're my sister." 

They wander again. Rath knows wandering— five years of living in a tribe can't shake his memories of being alone. He knows what to do. He teaches Lyn what he can. 

The years go by. The pain fades to an ache that burns like a stubborn ember. They fend for themselves— there are no more Lorca, and both of them are too prideful to beg for shelter from the Djute or Kutolah (especially not the Kutolah). But they have each other for company, so it's not so bad. 

That pegasus knight shows up every now and then. Florina, Rath recalls. She's sweet. Though, for an Ilian fledgeling mercenary, she's really not good at actually staying in Ilia. Rath doesn't tell her this. He's glad she's around, even if she's a bit skittish— it's good for Lyn to have someone other than him to talk to. Lyn has always been more social than Rath is, and while he might do fine on his own, she wouldn't. 

Lyn is eighteen and Rath is twenty-two. There's a person passed out in the grass. 

Lyn nods to them. "Is that a dead body?"

Rath grunts and shrugs. 

"I'm gonna check it out," Lyn says.

"Try not to get rabies, or whatever," Rath calls after her.

"I'm not gonna get rabies from a person!" Lyn calls back. 

Rath rolls his eyes and goes back to fletching his arrows. A second later, he hears Lyn shout again. 

"Rath?" she calls. "This guy is alive." 

"Maybe they're taking a nap." 

"I tried poking them, but they didn't wake up," Lyn calls. "Get a bedroll out, I'm gonna bring them in."

"What? You don't know where they've been. Bad idea."

"I don't care, I'm not just gonna let them _die!"_ Rath sighs. Lyn and her stubbornness. "Just get a bedroll, will you, hoof-breath?"

The person Lyn found is named Mark, they're a tactician, and they made the very bad decision of venturing across Sacae while being unable to actually fight. Rath is all set to tell them that's fascinating and politely bid them goodbye, until they mention the Taliver Bandits. 

"Taliver?" Lyn repeats. She and Rath look at each other. Both of them know that the discussion is over before it even starts. 

"Alright, Mark," Lyn decides. "I think we should go fight these bandits. My brother and I are good fighters— we can watch your back while you do your strategy thing." 

Mark coughs. "Great, great," they say. "But let's make a stop before we do that." 

" _Two_ grandchildren?" the green knight repeats, arching an eyebrow.

His partner glances at him. "We… were only told of a granddaughter." 

"Well, it's not my fault your letter is wrong," Lyn shrugs. "I'll gladly go to meet the old man, but he either agrees to see both of us, or he doesn't see me at all." 

"Well, we can cross that bridge when we get there!" the green knight decides. "My name is Sain, by the by, and, good sir, you would be…"

Rath isn't sure what to make of Marquess Hausen. He looks like a frail old Lycian man— like he'll shatter if Rath is too careless. He recognizes Lyn in an instant— no shocker there. 

He smiles feebly. "You look so much like Madelyn," he says. "And…" he looks at Rath.

"My brother, Rath," Lyn says, without missing a beat. 

Hausen's brow furrows. "Brother?"

"Adopted," Rath clarifies.

"Ah." Hausen chuckles. "That _does_ sound like Madelyn." 

"You're not… upset or anything?" Lyn says. 

"Of course not," Hausen promises. "It would be foolish of me to only accept one of my grandchildren, wouldn't it?" 

Lyn grins, and nudges Rath. "Hear that, Rath?" she says. "You've got a grandfather, too."

Conflict comes to Lycia again in 980. A Marquess goes missing, and his son leaves to search for him. The marches clash, and Caelin falls to Laus. Assassins operate behind the scenes. Then dragons and ancient magic get involved and Rath stops understanding what's going on. Lyn tries to explain it, but frankly it's too much for Rath to wrap his brain around. He'll stick to shooting stuff. 

But peace returns that same year, with the demise of the sorcerer trying to take over the world, and life goes back to normal. Friends made during the campaign say their goodbyes and go home to various corners of Elibe. Lyn and Rath go back to Caelin, and try to convince each other to take up the noble title when Hausen dies. 

"The letter _did_ say you were the true heir," Rath says. 

"You're older, and they're more likely to listen to a man, anyway," Lyn replies. 

"I'm not Lycian," Rath tells her. 

Lyn scoffs. " _Neither_ of us are Lycian. Come on."

(This goes on for quite some time, until Hausen mentions that they can always make arrangements to abdicate and put Caelin under Ostian protection, since it's clear neither of them actually want to rule anything, and it'd be better in the long run to voluntarily give up control than to have a noncommital marquess, susceptible to forceful takeover.)

It takes a few years for Hausen to die, but it also takes a few years to finalize all the abdication arrangements, and in those years, Rath learns more than he ever wanted to about Lycian nobility. So the mantle passes safely to Ostia when Hausen does die, and that's that. 

"So, where to now?" Lyn says. 

Rath shrugs. "Sacae," he says. "Where else?" 

Lyn chuckles. "I like the way you think." 

And Sacae embraces them once more— children of Mother Earth and Father Sky, back home, like they never even left. 

It's 984. The war has been over for years. Completely by accident, the Lorca have formed once more— they've collected people, all sorts of people, who didn't have a tribe. Some are familiar faces from the war— Karla, looking to learn what Sacae really is, since she didn't have a great example of it, either; Bartre, following Karla to the ends of the earth; Guy, claiming he wants to hone his sword arm but he probably just missed them. Florina joined them for good in 981 and she and Lyn finally married (it was about time). They call Lyn _Chief_ — Rath isn't about to argue. 

"Chief Lyndis," he says. "It's got a nice ring to it."

She groans. "Oh, don't you start. Can I just be Lyn with you? Please? I'll even stop calling you hoof-breath." 

Rath snorts. "You, _not_ calling me by childish nicknames? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?" 

Lyn shoves him. "Shut up," she says, though she can't hide her smile. "You know, traditionally, you'd be the chieftain instead."

Rath shrugs noncommittally. "I would rather be a chieftain than a marquess."

"Mm, fair." Lyn hums. "Hey, though, speaking of family."

"Mm?"

"Florina and I have been talking about kids," she says. "And we've decided we'd like you to be our surrogate." 

Rath is at a loss for words— for real, this time. Usually he's quiet because he chooses to be. 

"I," he says. "You would? Me?"

"Of course," Lyn says. "You're my brother. It wouldn't feel right going with some random pretty guy." 

"Pretty?"

"Oh, well, sure," she shrugs. "If this kid is going to have Florina's genes, then the other half they get might as well also be pretty." 

"So, you think I'm pretty," Rath says, raising an eyebrow in amusement. 

Lyn makes a big show of squinting at him, her hand on her chin. "Mm," she says. "Yeah, pretty enough." 

"I'm honored." 

Lyn snorts. "Smartass. So is that a yes?" 

Rath considers this. He'd never given much thought to having kids of his own— he was a little busy with the whole survival thing. But if Lyn is in a place where she's ready to, and this is how he can help…

"I'll do it," he agrees. 

Lyn's daughter is born in 985, on a clear autumn night in the heart of the Sacaean Plains, wrinkled and bloody and kicking, full of spirit despite being seconds old. 

Her cries are clear. She breathes without issue. She tires herself out quickly, which is no surprise— living is hard work, when you're as new to it as she is— and rests, once the midwives have cleaned her up and swaddled her in Sacaean linen, and given her back to Lyn and Florina. And Mother Earth and Father Sky, like they've done so many times before, welcome their newest child into the family.

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on twitter @detectiveryanz. follow for memes, video games, or just to get to know the sad little man behind the curtain.


End file.
